


The Visitor From Another Place

by Buffintruder



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud, Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 04:27:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15088985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buffintruder/pseuds/Buffintruder
Summary: This was one of the stranger cases Lockwood and Co. had taken, and not just because of the ghost-summoning cult.





	The Visitor From Another Place

One late October evening, a couple months after the bone glass incident, Lockwood and Co. received one of the most bizarre cases I’ve ever taken part in. Even before we had an inkling of the strange secrets we would uncover, we knew it would not be our usual case.

 

Most of our clients hired us to get rid of ghosts in a place they lived or worked at, but Ms. Samantha Chaudhri had come late one afternoon to talk about an unoccupied apartment next to her own. Her children complained about odd moans and shrieks coming from in there, and sometimes even Ms. Chaudhri could feel vague feelings of dread or horror and hear noises emanating from beyond their shared wall. 

 

Despite having spoken to the landlord many times, he had refused to do anything about it, and eventually Ms. Chaudhri decided to take matters into her own hands and come to us.

 

“Please be discreet about it,” she had told us. “I don’t want my landlord to think I’ve overstepped my bounds and kick me out.”

 

“Of course,” Lockwood had said. “We'll take care of the ghost without anybody noticing we're even there.” I thought that was a bit optimistic, given our track record, but I nodded along and hoped he was right.

 

Now, eight hours later, Lockwood and I were watching George try to pick the lock on the door of the unoccupied apartment. 

 

George had done some research on the apartment building earlier that day, but he had come up with nothing of interest. One of the inhabitants had died of old age in his bed a couple decades ago, but that was barely worth noting. Those who died peacefully never came back with as much force as the one Ms. Chaudhri described had. We had little idea about what we were up against, and that set all of us on edge.

 

It took a few minutes for George to break into the apartment while Lockwood and I waited impatiently, shifting from foot to foot. We weren’t able to hear much inside the room, other than some murmuring coming from beyond the door. I hoped that this didn’t mean there would be multiple ghosts, but we were rarely lucky like that.

 

_ That’s odd _ , the skull muttered from inside my bag. I could almost hear its frown.

 

“What is?” I asked, keeping my voice down so as not to attract unwanted attention from the neighbors.

 

“The skull said something?” Lockwood said. There were few other reasons I would start talking to thin air, after all.

 

“It said ‘that's odd.’ I don’t know what it means yet.” I looked back at my bag expectantly.

 

The skull had ignored both of us.  _ Whatever is happening in that apartment doesn’t feel like the dead. More like—” _

 

“Aha!” George whispered triumphantly. He twisted the knob, and it turned easily. We took a moment to all draw out our rapiers, and then George carefully slid the door open.

 

I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t what I saw. Lit by a dozen flickering candles, I could tell that the room itself was a standard living room for this kind of apartment, though there weren’t any signs of anyone living there. It was spacious enough, especially without much furniture in it. But that wasn't the part I found interesting.

 

Two large chalk pentagram-looking patterns had been drawn on the wooden floor, though they were far more intricate than the simple shape I was familiar with. I could smell rosemary and lavender coming from piles of herbs scattered throughout the complicated design. 

 

Inside one of the pentagrams stood three cloaked adults, staring at us in shock. In another pentagram was, for some reason, a large stone statue of a gargoyle, also facing the door.

 

“Well, this isn’t right,” the statue said unexpectedly, regarding its surroundings curiously, as if it had just arrived.

 

If not for my years of training, I might have screamed. As it was, I took a small step backwards before I could think to stop myself. A small choking sound came from George, while in the corner of my eye, I saw Lockwood twitch. The adults swiveled their heads away from us and back towards the gargoyle.

 

The adults in the middle of a pentagram were strange, yes, but I had seen odder. The talking gargoyle was something else. Even in the dim lighting, I knew that it was not human; the proportions were all wrong, and even cleverly applied costuming could not replicate that shape with a human inside. Best that I could tell from the distance I was at, it really was entirely made of stone. There was no reason it should be able to talk or move its mouth.

 

It was no spirit, of that I was certain. There were none of the usual signs that accompanied ghosts, no chill or miasma or creeping fear. The candles weren’t flickering, nor did the gargoyle glow or look even a little transparent. It seemed far too intelligent as well; it had reacted to our arrival with clear words and without mindlessly attacking anyone, despite the lack of salt or iron around it. But most importantly, I could tell from the adults’ reactions that they could see and hear the creature perfectly as well. That never happened with ghosts.

 

Attempting to maintain a facade of collectedness, Lockwood addressed the room at large, “Who are you?”

 

“We are members of the Spirit Speaker Association,” the adult at the front of the pentagram said proudly, almost challengingly. He was the first to have recovered from his shock, and I assumed that he was the leader.

 

George made a noise of disgust. “You’re one of those ridiculous organizations that try and communicate with the dead, aren’t you.”

 

“Their initials backwards spell ‘ass’,” I helpfully pointed out.

 

The members of the association scowled at us. “It’s not ridiculous,” the leader snapped. “We actually take precautions, you know. Unlike others I could mention.” He held up an iron horseshoe. The gargoyle winced away from it. “And as you can see, we’ve succeed in summoning our spirit! Who’s ridiculous now?!” His words didn’t exactly make me buy their argument any more.

 

_ That’s no spirit! _ the skull hissed. I had never heard it sound so agitated before. I was beginning to think that perhaps we had stepped into something bigger than we were prepared for.

 

“What do you mean I’m not a spirit?” the gargoyle demanded indignantly. “They summoned me in this pentacle, using my name and everything. Do you think I showed up just for kicks?”

 

I froze. “You heard the skull speak?”

 

“Yeah? Am I not supposed to hear you?” the gargoyle asked, speaking directly to my backpack. The skull remained silent. Whether it was shock or something else, I did not know.

 

“You’re Bartimaeus?” a member of the association asked hopefully before I could question the gargoyle further. She was the shortest of the three. “Father? You sound... different.”

 

The gargoyle gave her a deeply unsettled look. “I’ve done countless regrettable things in my many years, but I’ve never created a human before. You must have me mistaken for someone else.”

 

“Can someone explain what’s going on?” Lockwood demanded as the association began to mutter to themselves. The fierce glint in his eyes seemed to pierce every other occupant in the room. “What experiments did you break in here to perform?”

 

“We’re not breaking in!” the leader said. “I own the building, so I used this spare room for meetings.”

 

“I guess that's why the landlord never did anything about the complaints,” I muttered.

 

“We experiment on ghosts and relics and such. It’s all under control, perfectly safe,” he continued. 

 

George snorted doubtfully.

 

“But what's going on  _ right now _ ?” Lockwood asked, scowling and waving his sword threateningly.

 

The leader sighed. “Tonight, we were using an old technique found in a medieval book to summon the ghost of Mary’s father, but I believe that something went wrong. It said to call the name of the spirit we wanted to summon, but maybe we should have included a last name?”

 

The third member of the association scribbled something on a notepad as if they were writing down the suggestion for next time. A wave of hatred hit me. I despised these adults who stumbled into things they didn’t understand and couldn’t control, as if it were no more dangerous than strolling through a sunny field of flowers.

 

“...I’m not a ghost,” the gargoyle said. “Real ghosts shouldn't exist, only djinn and foliots trying to scare commoners. But this doesn’t appear to be the same Britain I last visited, so perhaps that's different here.”

 

“What do you mean?” George asked.

 

“You have no idea what I am, do you,” the gargoyle said. It almost seemed amused. “It hasn’t been that long since I was last summoned to Earth, only a decade or so. Nobody in this empire would have forgotten the existence of ‘demons’ so quickly, no matter what shape the government patched itself back into after its collapse.”

 

“I don’t understand,” I said. “The government’s been fine, and Britain hasn’t been an empire in decades.”

 

“See?” the gargoyle said, as if I had just proved its point, even though I still had no idea what it was talking about. “Different Britain.”

 

“You can’t be suggesting that the multiverse theory is real,” George said. His eyes wide with fascination.

 

“Can’t I? I’ve seen stranger things,” the gargoyle said. Then it sighed to itself. “Why does the weird stuff always seems to happen to me?”

 

“The what theory?” Lockwood asked impatiently.

 

“It’s the theory that there are multiple universes,” George explained. “For example, a universe where the Problem never happened. Or one where it started centuries ago. Or one where, apparently, talking gargoyles exist.”

 

“If you’re not a ghost, do you come from the physical realm?” I wanted to know. The gargoyle looked solid enough for that to seem reasonable, but I couldn’t imagine how the stone could move so smoothly without breaking several laws of the physical world.

 

_ That creature is from neither the world of the living nor the world of the dead,  _ the skull said, still sounding uneasy.

 

“‘That creature,’” the gargoyle scoffed. “Show some respect, will you? You aren’t wrong though.”

 

“Was that the skull?” Lockwood asked me. I nodded and repeated its words. “How can the gargoyle hear the skull?”

 

“What skull?” Mary asked. All of us ignored her.

 

“I’m not a gargoyle! I am a mighty spirit, and this is but one of my infinite forms.” To demonstrate, it went through a series of transformations from large silver-plumed serpent to a footstool to a panther to a pillar of smoke, finally stopping in the form of a boy who wouldn’t look out of place in what I knew of ancient Egypt.

 

“Well then,” Lockwood said, suddenly businesslike. I could hear a hint of worry in his voice. Whatever being that was standing in that chalk circle was nothing of the likes we had seen before. “This other universe thing is very interesting and all, but we have a job to do. George, wake Ms. Chaudhri and ask her to call DEPRAC. I think they’ll want this lot for illegal possession of relics and unsafe experimentation.”

 

“But—” George started.

 

“You can’t arrest us!” Mary protested.

 

“I believe that you’ll find we can,” Lockwood said, and no one dared to contradict him.

 

The adults shifted, each more terrified than the last, but none of them tried to leave the chalk circle they were standing in.

 

“Look,” George tried again. “Couldn't we talk to this thing a little long—”

 

“I’m sure we can come to some other arrangement—” the third member began, desperation in their voice.

 

“Absolutely not,” Lockwood said told the member. He turned to his side. “And George, some things are better left unknown. Haven’t you learned that from the bone glass?”

 

Neither Lockwood nor I held any grudge towards George for that incident a couple months ago, but Lockwood’s reminder had the desired effect. George looked guilty and immediately left the room.

 

“Spirit, demon, whatever you are, I ask you to leave immediately and never come back to this world,” Lockwood continued.

 

The boy in the pentagram gave him a blank look. “You think I came here of my own choice? I can’t leave until they dismiss me.” It pointed at the adults on the other side of the room with its thumb.

 

Lockwood gazed expectantly at the members of the association. They glanced uncomfortably at each other.

 

“Why should we do what you say?” Mary demanded. “You're just going to arrest us either way.”

 

“If the spirit or whatever is still here when the police arrive,” I said, “then they’ll have proof that you  _ succeeded _ in using unknown and untested rituals to summon a dangerous and powerful being.” I could have sworn the boy became a little more smug. “That’ll get you in more trouble than just attempting experimentation.”

 

“It’s just...” the third member of the association trailed off uncomfortably. “We don’t... we don’t actually know how to dismiss it.”

 

“You don’t  _ know _ ?” Lockwood was boiling in fury, and I was inclined to agree with him. Even the spirit looked disgusted.

 

“Sure,” it scoffed. “Why  _ not _ just summon me here with no plans on letting me return?”

 

I tried to stay calm, as the anger and frustration built up around me. “There has to be another way.”

 

“Oh, there is,” the boy said, something sly creeping into its grin. “All you have to do is break this circle or get whoever summoned me to step out of theirs.”

 

“We can’t!” the leader immediately protested. “If we do that, it cancels all the power we have over that creature. It could destroy all of us in here!”

 

The boy looked annoyed. “I already told you that I’m a spirit, didn’t I? My name’s Bartimaeus, as you very well know. There’s no need to keep calling me ‘that creature.’”

 

“You don’t deny that you could kill all of us?” Lockwood asked.

 

“Would it do me any good if I did?”

 

_ That ‘spirit’ is powerful in ways you have never experienced. I have no doubt it could do so if it wished,  _ the skull said, surprising helpful for once.

 

I repeated what the skull had said. Lockwood frowned, studying the situation.

 

The door behind us opened again. I startled, but it was just George.

 

“I called the police and they’re on their way.” George looked at the spirit and frowned. “What’s that still doing here? I thought you would have gotten rid of it by now.”

 

“Unfortunately, our only methods of ensuring its departure gives it the chance to kill all of us,” Lockwood said.

 

“Ah.” George pushed his glasses up his nose. “I see your dilemma.”

 

I sighed and stepped forward lifting my silver sword. The spirit’s eyes watched me warily. I waved the rapier across the pentagram lines so it nearly touched the spirit. It flinched back.

 

“Watch where you’re waving that thing!” it snapped.

 

“I think we can confirm that the spirit does not like silver or iron,” I said, remembering how it winced when the leader brought out the iron horseshoe. “So I’m going to break this chalk line, but if you try killing any of us, we will hurt you.”

 

“I wouldn’t have killed any of you anyway,” the spirit muttered sulkily. “It’d be a waste of my time.”

 

_ I hope you know what you’re doing,  _ the skull muttered.

 

“It won’t work!” the leader of the association tried. “Do you really think a bit of pain is a strong deterrent for—”

 

“Don’t listen to him, Luce,” Lockwood said when I hesitated. His encouragement warmed me, and my confidence returned. “He’s obviously lying. If the spirit remains here, the authorities won’t risk getting killed by dragging the association out of the circle. He’s just trying to buy extra time.”

 

“Right.” Hoping for the best, I scraped my rapier against the wooden floor through the chalk circle, creating a thin break in the line.

 

The spirit breathed out an exaggerated sigh of relief. As it began to disappear from this plane of reality, it waved goodbye. A few second later, it vanished completely.

 

“That’s one problem solved,” Lockwood said. He turned to face the members of the association, no longer trapped in their circle. “Now we need to make sure none of them try to leave while we wait for the police to arrive.”

 

“They should be here soon,” George added.

 

Lockwood held up his own rapier, and all three of us agents gave the association our most intimidating glowers. The leader took a step back in fear. This, I thought, just might be one of our easiest cases yet.


End file.
